


Seven Minutes in Hell

by fallingrenegade



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Incest, M/M, Teenagers, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingrenegade/pseuds/fallingrenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stan finds an incriminating paper, Ford tries to keep his treacherous secret safe. His plan backfires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Minutes in Hell

**Author's Note:**

> The awesome grapefruitbomba over on Tumblr drew an amazing [fanart](http://grapefruitbomba.tumblr.com/post/134972641296/based-on-the-fic-seven-minutes-in-hell-by) for this story. I'm so honored. Thank you.

“Come _on_ ,” drawls Stan, leaning toward his twin. “Just tell me. Who do you like? It’s a simple question.”

A frazzled Ford sits at their desk – well, Ford’s desk, really, since Stan never uses it – hoping his pestering brother will simply drop the subject. By now he should know better. When Stan wants something he wants it _now_. Stubbornness runs in their family.

“I’m not telling you.”

Ford’s attempting to finish up homework to no avail. Whenever he tries concentrating, Stan asks again. At the moment he’s sitting against the desk, taking up half the top and edging closer every time Ford evades the question. Stan knows he finds it painfully annoying and that’s precisely why he’s doing it.

“If you’re not telling that means there _is_ someone,” Stan concludes, wiggling his eyebrows.

At the motion, Ford tenses. His twin was surprisingly perceptive. He just hoped he wasn’t _that_ perceptive. He forces his attention back toward his homework and definitely _not_ on Stan’s ass which was now only an inch from his hand. Thank god he’s ambidextrous. Ford casually switches writing hands, putting the one closest to Stan under the table, pretending he has a hand cramp. From above, Stan watches, waiting impatiently. Ever since Stan found that stupid letter in Ford’s backpack an hour ago he’d been bugging him relentlessly. Ford knew he shouldn’t have written it. Or at least burned it afterwards. But Ford couldn’t help himself. For a few weeks now he’d been struggling with a heavy burden. Stan was right- he did like someone. If he was being honest, he liked them too much. There was no one Ford could tell his secret to. Usually Stan was his go-to man when a personal problem arose, but in this instance Stan was the very last person this information could be leaked to. If Stan found out he’d never speak to him again. Losing Stan would hurt more than he could even fathom. Ford’s glad he had enough sense to swap pronouns and conveniently omit his crush’s name.

“I saw your note. Ya got the hots for someone and I’m not gonna let you live it down until you tell me who it is. Promise I won’t tell anyone.” Stan crosses two fingers, though his other hand is conveniently unseen, so Ford doesn’t believe a word.

“No one,” Ford stressed. “I don’t have feelings for anyone. Leave me alone.”

“Oh, really?” The smug voice causes Ford to cautiously look up, pencil in hand.

“…What?”

“Ahem. How’d it go again?” Stan whips out a folded piece of paper from a hiding place which Ford desperately lunges for.

“Stanley, give that back!”

Stan grins, holding it as far away as possible. A strong hand grips Ford’s sweater. He can’t move, can’t steal the extremely personal paper away.

“‘When she looked at me yesterday I stopped breathing,’” quotes Stan. “’I don’t think she noticed, thank God. Every time I see her all I can think about is that look in those beautiful, striking blue eyes. How can I tell her how I feel? She’d hate me. Everyone would. It’s better to let the feeling go but I can’t shake it. Every time I see her-” Stan lifts an eyebrow at that for some reason; “I fall a bit harder. What do I do? I can’t tell anyone what goes through my mind. I lie awake most nights wondering what it would be like to hold her, touch her, what she would sound like in bed. I’m embarrassed by these thoughts, but even worse, I’m ashamed. These feelings shouldn’t control me yet I can’t stop thinking about her, what she feels like, how her lips would feel pressed against mine. I’m stronger than this. All of this foolishness is hormones telling my young body to mate. It’s carnal. Nothing more. I’m better than that. If I wait long enough the want will cease. I’m just not sure if I can keep this to myself much longer.’”

After embarrassing Ford beyond repair, Stan finally releases his sweater. Ford snatches the confession, shoving it into his jean’s pocket out of sight of prying eyes. Not that it mattered. Stan had read it over several times by now. It was too late. Part of his secret was out. Now all Ford had to do was keep the rest bottled up.

"Come on, Sixer,” urges Stan, expression softening. “I'm your brother. You said you couldn’t tell anyone but you can tell _me_." A snake slithers through Ford's gut. It had made a home there several weeks ago when Stan had had the audacity to smack Ford's ass. He'd whipped around, about to chastise his infuriating brother when Stan’s hungry expression stopped him cold. The blue bedroom eyes shook Ford’s core. Against his will, he gasped, losing all thoughts except those damn eyes. Stan had laughed then, obviously faking the expression simply to get a reaction. It worked. Much too well. Stan went back to flipping through a comic while Ford stood frozen, world disintegrating around his feet. That night Ford couldn't stop thinking about it, wishing circumstances could have been different. It took great willpower not to climb into Stan’s bed for some teenage experimentation. The only reason Ford forced himself to stop considering it was thinking who _exactly_ the other young man was. Knowing Stan was his brother made him queasy and that's exactly why he can't tell the truth. Not now. Not ever.

"Fine. It's, um… Eileen Mackie." She was the first person Ford thought of, though he honestly didn't know why. Eileen was a fairly preppy brunette that Stan hung out with a few times. Her personality wasn't the best but Stan thought she was attractive. Though Stan found most women attractive so Ford wasn't really sure if she was a good fake crush or not.

"Seriously? Why Eileen?"

Ford gives a semi-casual shrug, feeling none of the calmness he's hopefully radiating. Nervous eyes settle on the papers before him yet his attention is anywhere but.

"I don't know, Stanley. She's pretty." It's not actually a lie. Eileen is aesthetically pleasing, Ford can admit that much. He just didn't want within ten feet of the young woman let alone want to _do things_ with her. The thought of trying something intimate with any female put him off.

Stan crosses his wide arms, leaning against the desk again. The wood creaks under the pressure. Ford sits beside him, homework abandoned for now. Their eyes lock. Every fiber in Ford’s being hopes his twin isn’t catching on.  

“She doesn’t seem like your type is all. You never really talk about girls, though, so what do I know?” He shrugs, looking off in the distance toward his bed.

“I’m not comfortable with relationships. Otherwise I would’ve told you.”

Stan isn’t buying it and Ford doesn’t blame him. Ford tells him everything. Except this. No one can ever know about _this_.

“You coulda told me about Eileen. I can set you guys up. She likes me. I could get her to like you too, maybe even _like_ you.” Stan winks which is not a good idea for either party. Ford’s eyes dart away. He hopes Stan reads his action incorrectly.

“Please don’t. She doesn’t need to know. Besides, you promised not to tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell her, I’ll just bring you up in conversation. She’ll be none the wiser. Have faith, Sixer.”

If Ford did actually have a crush on this girl he’d be eternally grateful. Seeing as that’s not at all the case, Ford can’t help but fake his way through this nerve-wracking conversation.

“If you do end up going steady just make sure you wear a condom or pull out. Don’t need any little Poindexter’s running around.”

Appalled, Ford feels his face heat. He can’t be having this conversation. Stan has got to stop talking about sex otherwise Ford might do something incredibly stupid and horribly incestuous.

“Ugh. Don’t talk about that. You’re my brother.” The last sentence is a slap against his own face yet Ford couldn’t help stressing that fact, both to himself and Stan.

“What? Sex? It’s not a big deal. I’ve been with plenty of women. Woo her, buy her flowers, tell her she’s pretty, act like a perfect gentleman. She’ll be putty in your hands in no time. Chicks dig the sappy crap. Make sure you give ‘em what they want in the sack, too. It’s not all about you. No girl wants to make it with a selfish lover.”

“Please stop. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Stan shrugs, not embarrassed in the slightest.

“I’m serious, Ford. You have to know about these things. It’s probably the one subject I’m better at than you. If you want to know anything about doing the nasty, I’m your guy.”

Ford isn’t sure whether he should be turned on or disgusted by his brother’s words. Apparently not much of either, since he’s actually a bit glad. Stan’s taking this better than expected. Ford figured he’d be pushing him out the room right now, driving Ford to Eileen’s place to lose his virginity. Stan’s thoughts apparently aren’t far off. Still, Ford’s extremely grateful Stan’s falling for his bullshit.

“I appreciate that advice, but I’m not ready for something that… amorous yet. In due time, perhaps. If she likes me back. Which she won’t.”

“Don’t say that.” Stan clasps Ford’s shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze. “You’re a good catch. Any girl’d be proud to have you on her arm.”

The sincere expression throws Ford off. He’d never thought of himself as someone to be proud of before. If Stan really thought that maybe there was hope yet. Ford shook himself internally. No. Wishful thinking would get him nowhere. Besides, Stan was probably just messing with him again.

“You really think so?” asks Ford, not sure what answer he prefers.

“’Course I do,” Stan answers honestly. “You know me. If I didn’t mean it I wouldn’t say it.”

Ford knew all too well. When Stan had something truthful to say he could be downright rude. On the rare occasions that Stan actually offended him their parents had to pull them off each other before one got physically hurt. Being with Stan all day at school and all night at home could be exhausting. Having a twin wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“Will you let me finish my work now? I have a paper due tomorrow and I still have to proofread it.”

The less academic of them huffs.

“Sure, whatever. But I’m not dropping this, Stanford. I’d like to see you get laid sometime before the next century.”

Ford almost says something extremely stupid. Gladly, he bites his tongue, choosing to nod instead.

“Good. Glad we agree. Goodnight, Romeo,” teases Stan, voice imitating Juliet, apparently.

Ford rolls his eyes at his English homework.

“Goodnight, Jackass.”

+++++++

The next afternoon, Ford’s grabbing books from his locker when someone touches his back. His small shoulders tense, waiting to be picked on when the cause of most of his problems is suddenly leaning against the locker adjacent to his.

“Guess what?” a pleased Stan starts, causing a slithering in Ford’s stomach again.

“What?” Ford asks cautiously.

“I saw Eileen in the hallway after fifth period and invited her over to our place tonight. She said sure, as long as Sarah can come. Sarah’s pretty hot so I can take her off your hands if you and Eileen want the bedroom to yourselves.” Stan wiggles his eyebrows, poking his arm and instantly pissing off Ford.  

“You did _what_?” Ford almost shouts, scrambling to grab the books he drops. When he looks at Stan he’s mortified. “How could you do that without consulting me?”

“Jeez, Stanford. I thought you’d be a little happier about this. She’s single. Now’s your chance to make a move. It’ll be awkward, being your first girlfriend and all, but you’ll be fine. Just ask permission before you do anything. Don’t be a jackass. Girls love a guy who’s considerate.”

It’s all too much at one time. It was bad enough Stan had been teasing him relentlessly all day. For Christ’s sake, Ford just got out of Advanced Physics. He couldn’t deal with this right now. School was over. They had to go home and clean their room. He had to be cramped in their room with two girls he didn’t like just because his brother was dead-set on getting him laid. Ford had to get out of this.

“I- I can’t. I told Jeffrey I’d help him with his math homework.”

“Jeffrey-schmfrey. He’s got the second smartest head in this joint, behind you. That egghead doesn’t need any help. Eileen Mackie is going to be in _your_ bedroom tonight. You should be pumped. Why are you acting so weird today? Even more than usual.”

“I’m not acting weird. You’re not supposed to invite people into our room without consulting me first. That’s been our deal for years. You can’t spring this all on me at once.”

Ford starts hyperventilating. Stan’s eyes bulge, grabbing Ford’s arms before he falls.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

Ford closes his eyes, fears attacking from every angle. Eileen, his fake crush, was going to be in their room tonight. Stan would do everything in his power to get them together. By the end of the night Ford will either be in a relationship he wants no part in because of a stupid lie, or he’ll break and tell Stan everything. Neither option was remotely fair. He couldn’t tell Stan the truth, he just couldn’t. Like every other gay man he knew he’d just have to suck it up and deal with it. The question was, how?

“Talk to me, buddy. Are you alright?”

Ford opens his eyes to a very scared Stan. He hadn’t realized he’d even closed them. His brother is holding him upright because Ford’s legs were apparently doing a poor job of it. Some of their peers stare at them, wondering what the hell was wrong with the weirdo this time. Ford wishes he could say he was used to it by now.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little nervous is all. Sorry for worrying you.”

“Hey, as long as you’re fine, I’m fine.”

Stan lets go, though he’s ready at a moment’s notice, just in case. Ford hates worrying Stan but he can’t help it. The facade he’s worked so long building is quickly crumbling, burying him alive. If he can just get through this one night, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps he’ll start believing the lies eventually. It doesn’t sound remotely promising but grasping at straws is all Ford has.

“Let’s go home and straighten up before they come over.” That seemed like the only possible option for now. Once they were home, Ford could come up with a strategy. Without a plan, Ford had nothing but slinking fears coming to get him.

“That’s the spirit,” remarks an eager yet cautious Stan. “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll have fun, you’ll see.”

Ford desperately wishes he believed that.

+++++++

“Are you sure I need to wear this? It’s a little tight.” Ford eyes himself, unsure. The jeans are fine; the white t-shirt was a bit snug. Ford wasn’t sure why Stan made him wear it, and bringing it up seemed to piss him off.

“Stop pulling at it, you’ll stretch it out. It’ll show off your assets so don’t worry about it.”

“What assets?” asks Ford, honestly not seeing anything but a skinny, wimpy nerd frowning back from the mirror.

Stan strolls up behind him, inspecting the view from the mirror. He watches Stan look him up and down, attempting to ignore the thrill it gives him.

“Ya look fine, now stop bitchin’ about it. Eileen will love it. Makes you look like less of a nerd. You’ll be irresistible.”

Now there was a thought. Of all the things Stan had said the past several hours, that’s the probably the one thing Ford wishes were true. Irresistible to one specific person, anyway. If everyone wanted him Ford would have another panic attack.

“Stanley, there are two girls here to see you!” their mother shouts from downstairs. The twins lock eyes, Stan the picture of calm and Ford, as always, his polar opposite.

“Relax and be yourself. Not as geeky, though. Play it cool. But not too cool, you’ll scare her off.”

“How can I possibly do all of that _and_ be myself?” panics Ford, gripping at the too-tight shirt.

Stan irritatingly slaps his hand from the t-shirt, then shrugs at the legitimate question. Ford’s tempted to push him down the stairs for a valid reason to get the hell out of there. Though the thought is tempting, Ford takes a deep, shaky breath and follows his brother downstairs to greet the young women.

+++++++

Going downstairs isn’t as bad as Ford anticipated. Their mother stops them by the stairs, warning them not to do anything stupid while she’s gone because she can read minds. Stan reminds her she’s a fake psychic but Mrs. Pines just rolls her eyes. Like stubbornness, the motion runs in the family.

“It doesn’t matter. I know my boys and if either of you get one of those poor girls pregnant, so help me god there will be hell to pay. I’m mostly talking to you, Stanley.”

“Yes, Ma,” Stan sighs, having heard this conversation before.

His mother looks at Ford, raising an eyebrow which means, “Watch after your impulsive brother” and leaves them alone with their guests.  

Eileen is there in a somewhat-conservative blue dress with long brunette hair flowing over her small shoulders. She looks happy when she spots Stan walking her way, eyeing him as though she had the right to ogle his brother. Ford feels a pang of jealously, though not in the way Stan would assume. Sarah stood beside her friend, seemingly as nervous as Ford. She wore a more form-fitting flowery dress and a matching barrette in her orange hair. She smiled at Stan, though unlike Eileen, there was nothing amorous hiding beneath it. Once her attention drew back to Eileen, however, and she noticed how her friend was looking at Stan, her expression became fierce. Ford blinked, wondering momentarily if that look matched his own. When Sarah glanced his way, Ford recognized that look for what it was. He saw it every day in the mirror. Jealousy. They were in the same sinking boat, with society the sharks circling around, ready to rip them apart.

“Heya, Stan,” said Eileen, much too bubbly. After a moment, her attention turned toward Ford, expression not nearly as fond. “Hi, Ford. Nice to see you.”

“Uh, n-nice to see you too, Eileen,” Ford stutters out. Neither of them really means it but they can be civil.

“Hi, Sarah. You’re looking good.” Stan lays on the charm, flashing his baby blues at the unsuspecting redhead. Her eyes go wide at the flirtation, throwing her off.

“Oh, uh, thank you.”

Ford almost laughs aloud when he sees how pleased Stan is by her statement. It’s obvious to Ford he’ll get nowhere. Ford has a strong inkling that no man ever will. Apparently Stan doesn’t realize it, though, because he says, “How about we go upstairs, huh?” in a suggestive tone that’s intended for Sarah. She looks unsure of what to say to something so forward. Maybe Stan wasn’t the best with the opposite sex after all.

“That’d be lovely, Stan. Thanks for inviting us over,” intercepts Eileen, saving her friend from more embarrassment.

Momentarily, Ford wonders why he never noticed how Sarah constantly watched Eileen when she wasn’t looking. Fear tightens around Ford’s heart. Hopefully he wasn’t quite as obvious. Being gay was one thing, but wanting your own brother in the biblical fashion? That was sin atop sin. If anyone in their predominantly Christian neighborhood ever found out, Ford would be exiled. It didn’t matter that it was the ‘70s and times were better for people like him. If the community didn’t shun him, their father would.

With the depressing thought, Ford follows Stan and the ladies upstairs for an evening that, one way or another, Ford figures he’ll never forget. Even if he’ll want to.

+++++++

“So, this is our room. That’s Ford’s side, that’s mine.”

“You still share a room?” Eileen asks, tone unreadable.

“Yeah, we don’t mind,” chimes Stan, pleased to share space with his twin.

Eileen looks at Ford who quickly averts her gaze. It was bad enough his pretend crush was standing in their room, Ford doesn’t need Stan to misinterpret a look and leave them alone together.

“You girls ever play Seven Minutes in Heaven?” suggests Stan in a way he thinks is nonchalant.

Ford glares at him. They’ve been in their room for a whole two minutes and Stan already has a trick up his sleeve. Before Ford can talk him out of the idea, Eileen pipes in.

“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to play that game. How about you, Sarah?”

Sarah looks slightly distressed yet nods in approval. “Sure, I can dig that.”

“Great!” exclaims Stan, giving Ford a knowing look that’s rewarded with a tight scowl.  “Ford wants to play too, right Ford?”

Ford nods though every part of him screams.  

“It just so happens I have an empty bottle right here.” Out of basically nowhere, Stan pulls a pop bottle from under his bed, shaking it slightly in emphasis. It’s obvious he had the whole thing staged. Ford’s tempted to smack him with it.  Why did he even like Stan so much? Moments like this make Ford question his sanity.

Stan instructs them to sit in a circle on the floor. Ford sits next to Stan, attempting to display dominance he doesn’t have. Eileen claims the other spot by Stan while Sarah sits beside Eileen, resulting in a circle that more resembled a dilapidated square. At least the carpet was soft, because the tone in the room was anything but.

“Everyone know how this works?” asks Stan, surveying the faces around him. He stops on Ford who looks confused. “Each person spins the bottle and whoever it lands on you have to stay in a closet and make out with them for seven minutes. No chickening out. The other two will stand outside the door, listening in to make sure you’re actually doing it. Any questions?”

Ford feels faint. He knew the game was similar to Spin the Bottle but seven minutes in a cramped closet with a girl he has no interest in? That would be hell. If he spins and lands on Sarah, Ford won’t feel too bad. At least neither of them would have their feelings hurt by their crush locking tongues with someone else. If he landed on Stan, Ford might actually faint. He never has but there’s a first time for everything. Though Ford has a sinking feeling he won’t have to worry about either of those outcomes.

“If everyone’s ready, let’s get started. Ford messed up his throwing arm playing football yesterday so I’ll spin for him.” Stan is not smooth, nor will he likely ever be. Neither girls buy the lie yet they thankfully remain silent. Before Stan even spins the bottle, Ford’s aware of his fate. Since they were sitting on carpet, the bottle barely moves when it spins, so it conveniently points to Eileen Mackie.

Stan does a wolf whistle. “Looks like we have a winner!”

Absolutely no one in the room is happy, except Stan who is none the wiser.

Eileen is disappointed but forces a smile upon her face. She stands, careful to keep her dress looking neat and proper. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Still sitting, Stan gives Ford a wink. Ford dies a little. If only Stan would have let him spin. Maybe the ugly nervousness would be replaced with giddy excitement. One can’t dawdle on what-if’s, so Ford swallows, readying himself for the inevitable, and stands.

“What closet do we use?” Eileen asks. Ford hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

“That one,” Stan says after standing, pointing toward Ford’s. Of course. It wasn’t bad enough Ford was being forced to do this, he also had to be embarrassed by the state of his closet.

When Ford opened the door it was surprisingly bare. He looked around, momentarily confused. It took him a second to realize what was going on. Most of his clothes were currently thrown somewhere else, likely Stan’s toxic wasteland he called a closet. Ford groaned. No wonder Stan had picked his clothes out for him that evening. Otherwise Ford would have been tipped off about what was planned and no amount of pestering would have changed his mind about tonight.

Eileen walks in first, unafraid, inspecting the small space before glancing back to Ford. Stan, the gigantic asshole, pushes Ford in, not allowing him to chicken out. He almost bumps into Eileen, though she gladly moves out of the way in time.

“Stanley!” yells Ford, but the door slams in his face before there’s a chance to properly bitch him out. For a long moment he stares at the wooden door, hoping he’ll be transported to a different world where this isn’t happening. Real life doesn’t work that way, though. It’s a damn shame.

“You’ve got seven minutes. Make it count,” comes the familiar gruff voice from beyond the unescapable door.

A sigh escapes Ford. He turns around, facing what he’s been dreading ever since Stan read the incriminating letter barely twenty-four hours ago. Ford had to admit, Stan works fast when eager.

“So, uh…” Ford expertly starts, scratching at his head; “we should probably do something now.”

Eileen glares at him. “Seriously?”

“Y-yes?”

“If you think I’m letting you touch me you’re not the genius everyone says you are.”

Ford’s not sure if he should be flattered or hurt.

“Is it… is it because of my extra fingers?” Ford’s afraid to ask.

Eileen gives him a look. “Wow, you are an idiot. Of course I don’t want you touching me with those things.” She makes a face at his hands, the ones Ford is currently looking heartbroken at. “I only agreed to this stupid game because I thought I’d get the chance to be in here with your brother. At least Stan’s kinda hot, you’re just a freak.”

The door suddenly swings open, damn near ripped off its hinges. A very angry Stan is there instantly, hulking over Eileen.

“What the hell did you just say to him?!” roars Stan.

Eileen’s taken aback. Ford almost jumps in front of her, afraid of what his brother might do otherwise.

“Cool it, Stan. This isn’t about you,” Eileen insists once she gains some composure.

“Like hell it isn’t! Get out of my house!” Stan seethes, body roiling in anger.

“B-but Stan-”

“NOW!” he bellows, voice demanding to be followed.

Sarah grabs Eileen’s arm, dragging her out of there before Stan loses it. Eileen fights long enough to spit back fire.  

“Screw you, Stan. I thought you were cool but I guess I was wrong. You’re no better than your brother.”

Gladly, Eileen and Sarah are gone before Stan punches the wall. Ford watches his murderous twin in fear. He’s never seen Stan so angry.

For a few seconds, Stan breathes hard, watching the doorway. He stands between their bedroom door and Ford, protective. After knowing they were gone for sure, Stan turns his attention toward Ford, tone instantly changing.

“Are you alright?” Stan asks, concern dripping from the words.

A strong hand settles on Ford’s shoulder, infinitely gentle. It’s so similar to earlier that afternoon. Ford freezes, lost in the sensation of Stan’s attempt at consoling him.

“Stanford, answer me. Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Are you?” Ford asks, clearing his head, genuinely concerned that his brother might have finally snapped.

“Why are you asking _me_?”

“Because I was pretty certain our wall wasn’t going to be your only victim tonight.” He gestures toward the wall that gladly didn’t need filling in. Their father would have killed them.

Stan winces at the thought. “I lost my temper, but I’d never hit a woman, even if she is an inconsiderate jerk. Dad taught me better than that. I thought she was a decent person but I guess I was wrong.” He shrugs, anger bleeding rapidly to sadness. “Why’d you even like her?”

“I didn’t,” blurts Ford. His blue eyes go wide. “I… I mean…”

Stan blinks hard. 

“But you told me you did.”

 Ford sighs. Life brought him the perfect albeit painful opportunity. It’s now or never.

“I lied to you, and I’m sorry for that, I really am. I do like someone, it’s just that it’s…” Ford struggles, looking at Stan’s loving expression and savoring it because he would never see it again. “It’s a man.”  

Stan gives him a confused look before blurting, "Wait, like, you wanna bone a guy?"

The crude word causes Ford to wince. "Yes," he admits, stepping over eggshells.

Stan looks around, uncomfortable, as though he doesn’t know what to say. Usually Stan is the type to speak first and regret it later. Now he seems lost, like he’s been betrayed.

"Who is it?" Stan asks rather meekly.

“Please don’t tell anyone I don’t like women,” Ford pleads.

“Who is it, Stanford?” Stan demands, voice strong and unwavering.

Ford’s afraid. Not of Stan _physically_ , but how he might feel about him now. Until recently, Ford had been open with Stan about almost everything. Ford can’t imagine what it must be like, thinking you know your own twin and suddenly having that ripped away, leading to painfully gaping doubt. As much as Ford had hoped otherwise, it doesn’t look like Stan approves of his sexuality. Of course he doesn’t, the hateful voice inside Ford’s head tells him. Stan loves women. Wanting anything but the opposite sex was disgusting. Ford had been told that his whole life. He’d been born a freak and he would always be a freak.

“Please don’t hate me for this,” Ford pleads, internal voice screaming. “It’s not my choice. I didn’t ask to be gay.”

Stan inflates, eyes infinitely hurt. “Do you really think I’d be disappointed in you? As long as you’re happy I don’t care who you jump in the sack with. You could fuck an alien and I’d still love ya. Just tell me who it is.”

“Tell me you’ll keep my secret first.”

"Fine."

"It's... it's someone you know."

That earns an eye roll. "I know everyone you know, Poindexter. Hurry up and spill the beans. I need to know if I have to kick his ass someday."

"That might be a little bit difficult..."

"Why?"

Ford takes a painful, shaky breath, regretting the words before he even breathes them.

"Because it’s you."

Stan still looks gruff for a moment. Then he blinks, still annoyed from earlier but losing steam.

"Come again?"

Finally saying it aloud feels wonderful. It’s horrifying and real and dangerous but he finally said it. The next words come out naturally, wanting to be free.

"You. I like _you_ , Stanley. I… I don’t expect you to understand. I'm not sure why I do, I didn't want to but-"

Stan grabs him by the collar, pushing him into the closet. Ford bangs slightly against the back, knocking the breath from his lungs, though not from the impact. He puts his arms up defensively, knowing Stan's about to do something reckless. Stan presses against him, covering his lips with his own. Ford can't breathe. He desperately pushes Stan away, mortified by the conversation’s whiplash and whatever the hell was happening. Stan stops kissing him, stepping away instead, head cocked to one side.

"I thought this is what you wanted. You’re really good at mixed signals.”

"It… it is, but it’s not what _you_ want.”

“How do you know what _I_ want?” counters Stan, crossing his arms. Even Ford can tell it’s in defense, not anger.

“Because it’s impossible. You like women. Hell, you _love_ women. I know about all those dirty magazines you keep under your mattress.”

Stan has the decency to look embarrassed. “So? Can’t a guy like men _and_ women?”

Ford is floored. He blinks several times, lost for words. “I… you… what?”

Stan chuckles, still standing awkwardly. “Cat got your tongue, Sixer?”

“E-even if that’s true, I’m still your brother, Stanley. You shouldn’t like me that way.”

Stan throws up his arms. “Look who’s talkin’! You damn near wrote a love poem about me.”

“It was not! More like- like a journal entry,” corrects Ford, hoping to keep some of his ego intact. “And how can you be certain it’s about you?”

“At one point you wrote ‘him’ instead of ‘her’.”

Ford groans, digging fingers into his scalp. “I can’t believe I did that.” His eyes shoot up, watching Stan standing amused before him. “What if someone else had found it? That could have ruined my potential career. That could have ruined my _life_.”

“It already happened so don’t worry about it. What matters is, you like me.” Stan waggles his eyebrows. Ford will never get tired of that.  

“I suppose you’re right,” agrees Ford in a roundabout way, finally not full-on panicking. “That is, if you like me back.”

Stan huffs. “Don’t be stupid, Fordsy. ‘Course I like you.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

“Exactly; that’s why I said it.”

Ford punches at the front of Stan’s shoulder, barely touching him. As for Stan, he just smiles back. It’s infectious.

“Wanna continue our game?”

“What game?” Ford asks, already miles ahead of what happened only ten minutes ago.

“Did I steal some of your brain cells when we kissed? Because, if so, we’d better keep doing that. Even things up a bit.”

Everything floods back in then: Eileen, the closed door, the fear, the heartbreak. Stan seems to read his mind. He turns back only to grab the door, pulling it closed behind him. Now it’s just the two of them standing in Ford’s closet, no one else. Much better.

“Stop thinking about what happened with Eileen. She’s an idiot for treating you like she did.”

“It’s alright. She has a point, Stan.” The young man looks down at his abnormal hands, frowning. “No one will ever want me to touch them. I am a freak.”

Before Ford can even gasp, Stan takes Ford’s hands in his own. He squeezes gently, coaxing a dazed look from his brother.

“How can you say that? It’s not like you’re diseased or something. What’s that saying? ‘More of you to love’?”

“That’s about love handles, Stan.”

Stan looks down at his stomach. “So? We’re covered from all angles, then.”

Ford smiles. He can’t help it. Stan’s always been great at fixing a sour mood. It’s the first truly happy smile Ford’s had in weeks.

“There ya go! That’s what I like to see.” Stan cups Ford’s jaw, grinning back.

Ford’s smile wavers at the touch, mood shifting to something more sensuous. Stan seems to sense it because he leans forward, lips almost touching Ford’s, though hesitating.

“Do… do you want this? Do you want me to kiss you?” whispers Stan against Ford’s mouth.

Ford can’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he nods, edging Stan on.

Stan grins against his mouth, closing the small gap between them, pressing soft lips together. Ford watches in awe through his glasses. Stan’s eyes slide shut as he makes a noise, somewhere between happy and aroused. It revs Ford’s sex-drive instantly. Six-fingered hands grip at Stan’s hips, knocking their pelvises together. Not expecting the motion, Stan gasps into his mouth. Ford grinds into him, needing contact. The feel of Stan’s arousal against his own is almost enough to make him come right then and there. Stan had intended on taking things slow. Ford was having no part of that.

“Christ, you’d think you’ve done this before,” gasps Stan once their lips unlock. “Wait, _have_ you done this before?”

Ford shakes his head. “No, but we’ve got the house to ourselves for a while and, uh, I was hoping we could…”

“Wanna fool around?” suggests Stan, hopeful.

“If you want to.”

Stan grins. “What horny teenager could resist?”

Since Ford doesn’t actually know what he’s doing, Stan takes the lead. He clasps Ford’s hand, leading them from inside the closet to Stan’s bed. Their clothes are shucked off in haste, not wanting to bother with too much foreplay just in case their parents come home unexpectedly. Not that they need it anyway. Regardless, Stan wants to make this time memorable. The first is never the best. Still, Ford deserves a proper de-flowering.

“Are you sure you wanna do this? There’s no going back once it happens,” stresses Stan. Ford doesn’t know how Stan can sound so calm while he’s fully naked and straining for some sort of contact. Ford’s wanted this for so long he can barely stand it. With only one touch Stan could unravel him.

Ford nods. “I’m sure.” He’s never been so certain of anything in all his life. It scares him.

Stan nods once, accepting the answer. He positions Ford against the headboard, half sitting half lying on the bed. Stan climbs on, just as naked. Those gorgeous baby blues Ford keeps getting lost in stare into his, officially stealing his heart away.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay? If anything makes you uncomfortable just tell me.”

Ford bites his lip. “Dammit, Stanley, you don’t have to ask. Do whatever you want. Please. I want you to fuck me. I don’t care how.”

Blown eyes bore through Ford. Stan’s cock twitches.

“O-okay. You got it, Sixer.”

Stan straddles Ford’s legs, mouth attaching to a pink nipple. Ford ruts up, attempting to have some sort of friction. Stan’s hand wanders south, grazing the sparse brown hair there. It drives Ford crazy.

“Touch me, Stan. Please,” Ford whines, bucking up and getting no relief.

The younger twin does as he’s asked, hand gripping Ford’s cock. Ford jumps at the sensation, quickly moaning while Stan pumps him, dry.

“Use some lotion or something,” pleads Ford, needing something wet.

Stan uses something far better than lotion. He moves down, mouth sliding around Ford’s cock, slicking it with spit. Ford sees stars. He almost loses it. But he holds on tight, one hand gripping the bedsheets while he bites the other fist, attempting to stay quiet.

Stan scooches back farther so Ford has a better view of what he’s doing to him. His short brown hair looks so graspable, but Ford doesn’t know if that’s acceptable.

“Stan, may I- may I touch your hair?”

When Stan pulls off there’s a loud popping sound. He looks as far gone as Ford.

“Fuck, yes,” he pants quickly before sucking down Ford’s cock again. Ford groans at the sensation, hand carding through Stan’s hair. It’s softer than Ford imagined. It requires a large amount of self-control not to thrust up, fucking Stan’s mouth as he grips his hair.

“Hngh, Stanley, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

Stan bobs up and down, taking all of Ford’s cock in his mouth, sucking around it. Ford can’t take it anymore. It’s all too much. Watching Stan greedily suck him off, naked and moaning around his cock, makes Ford’s balls draw up. Doing this with Stan, actually doing it, is too much. Ford comes without warning down Stan’s throat. Stan pulls back a bit, hand stroking the base while his mouth sucks the tip. Ford makes a strangled noise as his semen strokes Stan’s mouth, claiming him as his own. When Ford stops shuddering from his climax, Stan braces himself, hand grasping his own cock. Stan’s hungry gaze scours Ford’s naked body, chest flushed, breathing heavily. He pumps his cock, making a choking sound as he comes hard, semen coating Ford’s naked stomach in strips. His breaths come out shaky as the euphoria takes over. Stan’s eyes flutter closed once the high is gone, body giving up. He lies next to Ford, both sated and happy.

“Well, that just happened,” a dazed Stan brings up. He’s still panting from the exertion and a certain part of his twin’s anatomy being shoved down his throat just moments ago. Ford watches his stomach move rapidly up and down, insanely pleased he caused that reaction.

“Looks like you succeeded. You got me ‘laid’, as you so delicately put it.”

“Hey, you’re right,” Stan agrees through a grin. “And you’re no longer a virgin. Not bad, losing it at seventeen.”

“Are… are you sure what we did counts?”

“Trust me, if my mouth has anything to say about it, that counted.”

Ford grins just thinking about it. Yesterday he’d been afraid Stan would hate him for his sinful feelings. Now he was lying next to Stan after climaxing for the first time with someone else. Having that someone else be Stan made it infinitely more special.

“I’m not sure how long that was, but that was much better than Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Stan snorts, looking over at Ford. “Any other time I’d tease you for saying that but you’ve really hit the nail with the hammer on that one.”

Ford fondly looks back. “Can we do that again?”

“What, have sex?”

Ford nods.

“Give me fifteen minutes and we can do anything you want. But first we gotta find my lube. It’s in a drawer. Somewhere.”

“Lube?” Ford chokes, feeling giddy all over again. “As in... lubricant?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound confused? You do know what lube is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Ford snaps. “Why do you have personal lubricant?”

Stan blinks. “Remember how I said I’ve been with a few women?”

“Yes…”

“Yeah, well, some of them were actually guys. I’ve been to a few rodeos, Ford, if you know what I mean. You can’t suck a dick like that without experience.”

The words require an eyebrow raise.

“Seriously?” Ford balks, honestly not expecting such an admission.

“Hey,” Stan winks; “you’re not the only one with dirty little secrets.”

 


End file.
